A Forever Christmas

Chapter Seven

The next moment, in a fit of pure frustration as angry tears filled her eyes, Angel fisted her hand and hit it against the wall.

“I can’t remember, I can’t remember, I can’t remember,” she cried, her voice growing more agitated with each repetition.

Moved and almost overwhelmed with sympathy, Gabe enfolded her in his arms. Angel was too weary and too drained to struggle and pull away.

“Then don’t try,” Gabe told her gently.

Desperately searching for a clearing in the fog that had laid siege to her mind, Angel raised her head to look up at him, confused. Was he really telling her to give up?

“What?”

“Then don’t try,” Gabe repeated. “Just for now,” he advised, “just let yourself be.”

“But who is ‘myself’?” she cried. Didn’t he see? That was the problem. She didn’t know. How could she be herself when she didn’t know what that meant, what it involved.

To her surprise, he didn’t shrug or dismiss her exasperated question. Instead, looking directly into her eyes, he gave her an answer.

“A beautiful woman who survived a horrific accident that could have very easily been fatal. You’re a survivor,” he told her. “For now, that’ll be enough. We’ll build on that.”

“‘We’?” she questioned. How could there be a “we” when she was so very alone?

Gabe nodded. “You and me. And everyone else in town.” He smiled as he saw the skepticism entering her eyes. “Forever’s that kind of a town. People like helping their neighbors whenever they can.”

He made it sound like a perfect place. She would have loved to believe him. But there was just one thing wrong with his assumption.

“I’m not a neighbor,” she pointed out.

His eyes continued to hold hers. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Of course she was here, she thought. He knew that. “Yes, but—”

Gabe cut in, stopping her right there. “People in Forever don’t need anything more than that. So—” a whimsical smile curved Gabe’s lips as he looked at her “—are you planning on staying down here until morning, or would you like to get up? Maybe lie down and get a little more sleep?” he suggested, nodding at the bed.

She looked back at the bed she’d run from in her terrified, semiwakeful state and let out a ragged breath. “I don’t think I can sleep,” she told him.

“Okay.” Rising to his feet, Gabe extended his hand to her. After a beat, she took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “I can make us some coffee,” he offered.

For the first time, questions that had nothing to do with the past she couldn’t remember occurred to Angel. She looked around at her surroundings. “Is this your place?”

He nodded, then apologized. “Sorry about the mess. I just moved here.”

He’d tendered the explanation that, according to Alma, was getting a little frayed around the edges since he’d made absolutely no headway in organizing his things since the first day he brought them into the house. Cleaning had never been one of his attributes and most likely never would be, but for now, Angel didn’t need to know that about him.

“Why here?” Angel asked.

“Because the owner gave me a good deal on the place and I—”

Angel shook her head. He’d misunderstood her question. Small wonder, she thought, since she’d only given him a snippet of what had occurred to her in her mind.

“No, why did you bring me here?”

“You fell asleep in the car on the way back. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb you. I figured it was just easier to carry you into my house than go knocking on Alma’s or Miss Joan’s door to stay there.”

She turned to look at him. His description of the events took her by surprise. “You carried me into the house?”

He laughed. Why would that surprise her? Other than waking her up—which he was trying not to do—that had been his only option.

“Well, my magic wand’s in the shop and dragging you from the car into the house by your hair just didn’t seem like the way to go, so yeah, I carried you,” he told her. “Why?”

“No reason.” She didn’t want to tell him that the thought of his carrying her like some princess in a fairy tale seemed so incredibly sweet, not to mention romantic.

It wasn’t until almost a minute later that she realized his words struck a faraway chord in the barren wasteland that comprised her mind. She tried to make it come closer, but couldn’t.

Had someone carried her up the stairs before? Or was she just imagining it?

“It just sounded…” Her voice trailed off for a moment before she concluded, “Familiar.”

Gabe fought the urge to press, to ask her what else might have sounded familiar. That would have definitely been the wrong way to proceed. What she needed right now was to give herself time to heal, to relax, and maybe then she would remember something more.

Until then, they both had to remain patient—most of all, he had to remain patient because as far as he was concerned, it was up to him to set the pace for her.

So, reining in his curiosity, Gabe nodded and said, “Good. Something to build on later.” He emphasized the last word. “Now, would you like that cup of coffee?”

Angel looked at the bed again. “No, maybe you’re right,” she allowed. “Maybe I should try to get some more sleep.”

“Okay. Sounds good,” he agreed readily. Beginning to make his way toward the door, he said, “I’ll be just downstairs if you need me.” He pointed in the general direction of the door even as he started to walk out.

“Gabe?”

Something in her voice stopped him and he turned from the door. “Yes?”

“Would you…” She licked her lips, lips that suddenly seemed so very dry to her. “Would you…” She began again, only to have the words freeze in her throat. She felt awkward and uncomfortable about the request she wanted to make. A request to a man who’d virtually been a stranger to her less than a day ago.

She had no right to ask this of him, Angel told herself.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she was trying to say, Gabe thought. He could remember a time, when he was a very young boy, when he had been afraid of the dark. In a way, this was a little like that.

“Would you like me to stay until you fall asleep?” he asked kindly.

Relief instantly washed over her features. “Would you?”

He felt something stir inside of him. That protective streak he was trying to ignore. She just seemed to keep bringing it out.

“Sure.” As she lay down on the bed, Gabe sank down on the floor, his back against the bed. There was no chair in the room. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere, anyway,” he told her.

She was more tired than she realized. And having him here allowed her to relax enough to sleep.

“Gabe?”

He could hear the drowsiness creeping into Angel’s voice. “Yes?”

“I’m glad you were the one who saved me.”

Her remark made him smile. “Yeah.” He laughed softly. “Considering that the alternative’s pretty gruesome.”

He didn’t understand again, Angel realized hazily. “No, I’m glad you were the one who saved me,” she repeated with fading emphasis.

Within a few moments, secure in Gabe’s presence that he would be there to ward off her demons, Angel fell asleep.

An enigmatic smile played on his lips as Gabe twisted around and looked at her for a long moment.

“Yeah,” he finally replied very quietly. “Me, too.”

For a second, he thought about getting up and going downstairs, now that she was asleep. But if she woke up again and found herself alone, she might feel anxious or even threatened. He didn’t want to chance that.

So, making himself as comfortable as he could, given the circumstances, Gabe rested his head against his raised knees, closed his eyes and waited for morning to come.

* * *

SOMETHING—A SCENT? aroma?—teased his senses, weaving its way into his consciousness.

With a start, Gabe woke up. It took him a second to orient himself. He was still on his bedroom floor, half leaning against the side of his bed. His limbs protested somewhat as he got to his feet. Falling asleep like that was definitely not the last word in comfort.

But that wasn’t what was bothering him.

His bed was empty.

So was the room, he discovered as he quickly looked around it.

“Angel?” he called out.

His voice echoed back to him. There was no other response.

Had she taken off for some reason? Had something more actually frightened her last night, something that she hadn’t for some reason elaborated on?

He needed to find her.

Already dressed, Gabe looked around for his boots amid the chaos on the bedroom floor until he remembered. His boots were still downstairs in the living room where he’d left them last night.

Hurrying down the stairs, Gabe became aware of the strong smell of coffee. Not just coffee but…bacon?

That was what had woken him up. The aroma of breakfast being made.

By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, the sense of urgency that had initially propelled him had abated. Instead, he followed the invisible, aromatic trail to the kitchen.

And found Angel. She was up—and apparently cooking breakfast.

As subtly as he could, Gabe blew out a long breath of relief, then crossed over to her at the stove. Unlike the bedlam that ensued whenever he cooked for himself, she seemed to be right at home in the kitchen.

“You’re cooking,” he marveled.

Startled by his presence, Angel swung around. Seeing Gabe, she flashed him an uneasy smile. “I hope you don’t mind. This seems to relax me,” she confessed. Like a puppy to a bowl full of treats, she’d found herself drawn to the kitchen pantry as well as the refrigerator. The rest had just happened. It was a little like being on automatic pilot.

“Mind?” he repeated, mystified. “Why should I mind? A. I like to eat and B. more important than that—” he grinned as he pointed out the obvious “—you remembered how to cook.”

The second part of his assertion seemed to surprise her, as if she’d just realized that what he’d said was true.

A rather embarrassed, although pleased, smile curved the corners of her mouth. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

He looked over her shoulder. There were two skillets on the burners. The smaller one had the bacon in it. The larger skillet was exclusively devoted to an omelet she was in the middle of creating.

“You sure did,” Gabe told her. “Not everyone takes on making an omelet the morning after they’ve lost their memory. Looks like the pieces are starting to come together for you.”

“Yeah, but all the pieces have something to do with food,” she lamented.

“Remember, you’ve gotta start somewhere,” he reminded her of their earlier exchange. He paused by the coffeemaker and inhaled deeply. “The coffee smells great,” he enthused.

Coffee—good coffee—was his personal weakness. Pouring himself a mug, he noted out of the corner of his eye that she was watching him. Apparently she was holding her breath until he took a sip. Which he did gamely. Unable to wait patiently any longer, Angel asked hopefully, “Good?”

“No,” Gabe answered. Then, just as her face began to fall, he raised the mug in his hand high, as if to toast her with it. “It’s great,” he emphasized.

For the first time, he saw a glimmer of happiness enter her eyes. “Really?”

Gabe inclined his head. “Really,” he assured her with feeling.

Leaning a hip against the counter, he took another sip of coffee—a long one this time—and watched with interest the way she wielded the large knife in her hand. She moved it rhythmically on the chopping block, turning a red pepper into confetti, cutting the sections into equal tiny pieces.

Observing the way her hands were moving came very close to watching poetry in motion.

“Maybe you’re a professional,” he guessed out loud.

Angel raised her eyes to his face, her hands stilled for a second.

“A what?” she asked warily.

“A professional. You know,” he elaborated, “like a chef or one of those people they have on TV, hawking their cookbooks and trying to hook people on preparing meals their way.”

Angel appeared skeptical, he observed, even though she never stopped chopping. She slid the resulting heap of finely sliced vegetables into the skillet. “You really think so?”

He answered her question with a question. “How does that knife feel in your hands?”

She’d instinctively selected it from his chopping block after quickly examining all the knives mounted in the block. This one looked up to the job. How she knew that, she hadn’t a clue. But she’d been right.

Looking down at it now, she said, “Good,” then added, “Like it belongs there.”

Gabe nodded at the answer he’d expected. “Which makes you either a professional chef—or an apprentice ax murderer—and something tells me that it’s probably not the latter.”

When she laughed in response, pleasure wove through him. He liked the sound of her laughter.

It took Angel a few more minutes to finish making the omelet. Gabe was on his second mug of coffee and had done justice to three pieces of bacon, nibbling them to oblivion, when she transferred her creation onto a plate and then pushed it in front of him.

“Tell me what you think.”

He heard the hopeful note in her voice. There was no way he was about to burst her bubble even if what she’d just made tasted like shoe leather left out in the sun for three days and stuffed with rotting rattlesnakes. She was obviously making progress and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Well?” she asked as the first forkful slid between his lips.

To his relief, it definitely did not taste like three-day-old shoe leather stuffed with rotting rattlesnakes. Instead, magnificent tastes exploded on his tongue, tantalizing him.

He nodded with feeling. “You’re definitely a professional.” Setting aside the coffee mug, he drew the plate closer and began to eat in earnest. “This is really great. You’ve got a gift,” he told her.

Angel hugged his words to her. They filled her insides like the first rays of sunshine rising after a long and dreary winter. Why hearing them from Gabe meant so much she wasn’t able to explain, but there was no denying the end result.

“You really think so?” she pressed, barely able to suppress her enthusiastic reaction.

Rather than answer verbally, Gabe just nodded. He was too busy polishing off the rest of the omelet. As he ate, an idea came to him. And in its wake, a sense of relief along with it.

“Now I know what to do with you while I’m at work,” he told her.

He’d been a bit concerned about that. Since he’d just begun to fill in for Larry, he couldn’t exactly take off to watch over Angel, and yet he didn’t feel that he should leave her by herself. She seemed a bit fragile to him and he was afraid that she might wind up losing the ground she’d gained so far.

Angel frowned slightly. She wasn’t quite following him. “You want me to cook for you?”

Gabe held up his hand to keep her from making any more guesses until he could tell her himself. He didn’t like to talk with his mouth full, but there was no way he was about to leave even so much as a single morsel on his plate.

“Not for me,” he corrected, even though he had to admit that he was strongly tempted to keep her and her culinary talents all to himself. He couldn’t remember when he’d eaten anything this good. “Miss Joan could use you in her kitchen. Eduardo, her short-order cook for what seems like the past century, told her he was retiring at the end of the month, which means that she has to find someone to take his place before then.” He grinned at her as he reached for the last of his coffee. “I think you’re about to solve her problem. It’ll only be temporary,” he added quickly, in case what he was saying made her feel hemmed in. “Just until you get your memory back and she finds someone. And who knows?” he posed. “Cooking for her might even help you get your memory back.”

She looked at him hopefully. “Do you really think so?”

“Why not?” he asked. “Things never go according to plan. Sometimes they go better, sometimes worse, but always, it seems, at their own pace, not ours.” Finished, he set down his mug, his eyes still on her. “How does that sound to you?”

Angel smiled warmly at him. “It sounds great,” she told him. “Really great.”

He found himself fascinated with the look that came into her eyes.